New Year
by TereT
Summary: It ends up being a New Year's Eve to remember. This was an answer to an NC17 challenge in 2002 that I didn't publish back then.


TITLE: Party of Two  
AUTHOR: Tere T  
STATUS: Complete  
CATEGORY: Romance/Humor, NC17 Christmas Challenge  
SPOLIERS: Small Abyss  
SEASON: Season 6 some time after Abyss  
RATING: NC17  
SUMMARY: Sam's alone for New Year's Eve, only she isn't

ARCHIVE: SamJackNC17,  .   
DISCLAIMER: The story's mine; Sam and Jack aren't.

This was to meet the SamJack NC-17 Christmas Challenge. The following had to be included.

Mistletoe.

Any type of traditional Christmas food.

An item of red clothing

The list motto, "Screw the regs!"

NC-17 rating.

This was it. The holidays were basically over. Christmas had come and gone with its usual understated festivities. Her dad had been able to make it home for a few days, which he split between Sam's home in Colorado Springs and Mark's in San Diego. Sam wished she'd been able to go out to Mark's with him, but duty called. They'd had Christmas Day together, and then December 26 saw SG-1 back on duty and on a five-day off-world mission.

It had been a simple enough assignment, thank goodness. No life-or-death situations, no evil warlords, no alien viruses to wreak havoc on their bodies—all in all, the mission had been refreshingly boring and quite uneventful.

So, now, here she was, coming home alone to a dark house on New Year's Eve. Wisely, she'd broken down and bought an artificial Christmas tree this year, so there was no worry about having a dried-out tree in the house. One flip of a light switch and her living room was illuminated with the cheerful colors of Christmas, the tree appearing as fresh as when she'd put it up two weeks earlier.

She really should take it down, but she remembered hearing somewhere that taking down a Christmas tree before the New Year was bad luck. Besides, she was tired. She'd worry about packing up the holiday decorations later. Dropping her purse and keys on the bar, Sam kicked off her shoes, shed her coat, and headed for the fireplace.

The first thing Jonas had done when they'd returned was to check the weather—issuing warnings for her and the colonel to drive safely as an intense weather system was moving in which promised to drop nearly six inches an hour overnight. The snow had begun to fall on her drive home, and was falling steadily.

She knew from experience that the power was apt to go out in heavy snowstorms and having her fireplace burning now would be easier than starting it in the dark later.

Building the fire was quick work, as Sam started it with a practiced ease. That was one thing about all their off-world trips. She'd learned expediency with fire-starting. Expert fire-starter, to be exact. A trip to the garage for additional dry wood to stack next to the fireplace for easy access finished her preparations for the possible winter storm.

Sam turned on her stereo and programmed the cd carousel to alternate between her favorites: bluesy mood music by The Corrs, Matchbox 20, U2, and others. Keeping the volume to a decent level, she felt the knots within begin to unwind when she heard Bono's sultry voice blending in a duet with the lead singer of The Corrs. Contrary to the words of the song, she wouldn't be dancing anytime soon.

"Where do you go when you're lonely?" Bono asked.

"I'm there, Bono, I'm there," Sam answered as she went to her bedroom to change.

No. No, she wouldn't do this. She would not feel sorry for herself and for how life seemed to be passing her by as she fought a silent and deadly war for the freedom of not only Earth, but most of the universe. She knew what she—what they—did was valuable, important, and a ton of other applicable platitudes, if she cared to take the time to think of them. But, pretty words didn't solve the problem that, at the end of the day, she wanted to come home to more than what she had.

Spending another New Year's Eve alone didn't mean a treat wasn't in order for herself. When she went Christmas shopping, she'd seen a gorgeous full-length negligee in the window of a lingerie store that she just couldn't resist. There were some times when she really wanted to feel like a girl. And buying that deep red satin gown was one of those times.

Despite the fact that purchasing it defied all reason since she'd have little use for it, she'd wanted it. She wanted to be Samantha. Sexy. Sultry. Sinful. So far removed from the soldier she was nearly every day of her life, from the officer who couldn't break the rules. New Year's Eve was as good a time as any to find Samantha and shed soldier Sam.

With spaghetti straps crisscrossing in an intricate pattern over her back, a deep v-neckline revealing a hint of cleavage, and a thigh-high slit only apparent when she moved, the silk negligee did everything she wanted. It transformed her. It made her feel, to quote the dumb song, like a woman. Sam shrugged on the matching kimono-style robe and left it open so it billowed as she walked, the sash fluttering like ribbons behind her.

The last item on her list for a completely forgettable New Year's Eve was a mug of white hot chocolate—her most recent obsession. Sauce pan, fresh milk, a couple of teaspoons of sugar, white baker's chocolate she'd chopped the last time she'd fixed the treat, and brandy were collected on the counter by her stovetop.

She put the milk on to heat, the remaining ingredients would be added after the milk was hot, and then retrieved the matches at the fireplace to light a couple of candles. Candlelight suited her mood. As she headed back into the kitchen to check the milk, her doorbell rang.

She glanced through the peephole and quickly opened the door; cold air swirled at her feet and caused her robe to float around her ankles. "Colonel? Is everything all right?"

He stood in her doorway, seemingly speechless for a long moment, before he blinked hard and spoke. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I've come at a bad time—you have company." He started to turn away to leave. She stopped him with a hand on his sleeve.

"No. No, I don't." She watched his face as he turned back, followed his eyes as they skimmed over her and then downward, and realized her physical reaction to the cold air was rather obvious, especially since she hadn't thought to close the robe before she'd opened the door. A rush of pink stained her cheeks. Self-consciously, she wrapped the robe around herself, tying the sash. "You gonna stand there all night or do you want to come in?"

Jack smiled slightly, relaxing a bit as the smart-mouthed major he knew broke through the fantasy standing in front of him. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Sam closed the door behind him, throwing the lock against the gusty winds. "It was either invite you in, Colonel, or suffer frostbitten toes. What's up, sir?"

"Uhm, mistletoe, Carter?" he asked, a slightly puzzled look on his face.

"What?"

He looked up at the entry hall light overhead. "That just doesn't seem you, Major."

Sam followed up to see what he was staring at. Oh, geez, Dad. And they were standing right under the green stuff. "My dad. He didn't even tell me. Just forget it's there."

"Well, it seems a shame to let it go to waste. Kind of, oh, what's the word?"

Stupid? Foolish? A heartache in a handbag, Colonel? Instead, she said, "A mistake?"

"No, a missed opportunity." He grinned evilly at her, his brown eyes twinkling. "It's a law, Carter."

"It's against reg—"

"Shush, a long-standing holiday law trumps those. Pucker up, princess."

Jack leaned down, pausing for a moment as he neared her face as if he expected her to move away. When she didn't back down, he smiled and quickly planted a chaste peck on her lips. "Now, that didn't hurt too much, did it?"

"That's as good as you can do, sir?"

"That a dare or a request, Major?"

Sam blushed again, at a loss for another jab. His presence was way too close, nearly overwhelming her. She stepped back a bit, put a safe distance between them. "I assume you came over for a reason, sir?"

He held up the bags dangling from gloved fingers. "Merry Christmas?"

"Last week."

"Yeah, but . . . what's burning?"

"Oh my God, the milk!" She flew down the hallway into the kitchen, her robe doing its imitation of Superman's cape.

Jack followed her, placing his packages on the bar before shedding his jacket and draping it over a bar stool, tucking his gloves in a pocket. "What was it?"

"It was going to be hot chocolate."

"Oh, sorry."

"It's okay, just scalded milk," she said, cleaning up the hot mess. "I'll heat more. Want a cup?"

"Maybe later."

"What'd you bring?"

"Dinner. You haven't eaten, have you?"

"No, hadn't thought about it. Was thinking more about the chocolate. So, what'd you bring? Pizza or Chinese?"

"You think you know me so well. Neither. It's New Year's Eve—why would I go traditional?"

"Oh, you found Chinese pizza?"

"Ha, ha, ha, Carter." Jack removed the boxes from the carrying bags. "We may need to nuke these a bit—it's damn cold out there. And, there's an appetizer."

"Ooh? That's different."

"The menu said 'crispy spring rolls with gingered chicken and tender vegetables'—translation: fancy egg rolls with peanut dipping sauce." Jack opened the container with flourish. "Wait—that's not it." He snapped the lip shut, pulled out a different container, and repeated his flourish.

A warm, spicy aroma tickled her nose. "Wow, that smells great."

"But, wait, there's more," he paused to reopen the first container, "Salmon over orzo pasta with mushrooms, spinach, crab, and shrimp in a butter sauce."

"And, why have you done this?"

"Hand me a couple of plates to divide this out, Carter," he ordered. She got out the dishes and some silverware and waited for him to continue. "There was this 'dinner for two' deal at that new gourmet grocery. They'd been advertising their carry-out meals, and I stopped by there on my way home."

"And?"

"And, it's for two." He looked at her as if she should understand without further explanation as he popped a plate into her microwave.

"So, you decided to drop in on ol' Carter because she certainly wouldn't be doing anything tonight."

Jack stopped fussing with the second plate. "No, I dropped in because I wanted to start the New Year with you."

The microwave dinged before she could say anything and Jack handed her the heated plate. "Do you have any wine?"

"There's a bottle of white wine in the fridge." Sam set the plate on the counter and turned around for wine glasses while Jack found the wine. As she closed the cabinet door, the lights blinked, and then slowly browned out.

The candles she'd lit earlier flickered warmly, casting an unnerving intimacy over her kitchen.

"Let's eat in the living room," Sam suggested. She carried the glasses into the room as she spoke, not giving Jack a choice. "It'll be brighter in here."

He obeyed without comment, placing the wine and glasses on the coffee table next to the plates. "Corkscrew?"

"In the flatware drawer. Oh, forks. We need utensils."

"I got it covered, Carter. Grab the crispy spring chicken thingies."

She laughed, knowing he knew darn well what the appetizer was called since he'd just recited the menu from memory. His intentional mistake served to confirm what she'd thought for a long while. Quite often, his fumbling with words was done for her amusement. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. But, realizing the many tricks he had to get her to smile, to diffuse a tense situation, to deflect from . . . whatever made her look at him anew.

Despite their best intentions to keep things between them at a professional level, personal feelings they'd agreed to forget about kept leaking out. It'd had just gotten worse over the past year. The change in personnel on the team had only served to draw them closer. Closer scared her. Closer was dangerous.

"I'm going to . . . go change, sir."

"Don't worry about it, Carter," Jack said. He began to fill their glasses. "I've seen you in way les—I mean, you, uh, it's fine. Besides, we're both adults."

"Yeah, that's kinda why I thought I'd change."

"Sit down. Let's eat before it gets cold." He did as he suggested, planting himself on her sofa, but she started to leave the room.

"Carter—Sam, come on," he called.

"I'm just getting another candle, sir."

She placed the cream colored pillar on the square coffee table, to the side of their meals, and lit it before sitting down on the floor opposite Jack.

"So, how is it?"

"Nice."

She saw a hint of a smile on his face and candle glow reflecting in his brown eyes that were locked on her. "I meant the pasta."

"Oh, that."

"Sir," she warned.

He smiled again, bemused, and began to eat. After a few minutes of quiet, she started to discuss the recent mission, the way the team had changed after Jonas had been added, anything that steered her thoughts away from the fact that she was eating a marvelous dinner alone with her incredibly sexy commanding officer. By candlelight. With a major snowstorm raging outside. Alone with her incredibly sexy commanding officer. On New Year's Eve, no less. And, did she already say she was alone with her incredibly sexy commanding officer?

She felt like she needed to continue to remind herself of that since the way she kept watching his eyes while they talked could be construed as inappropriate. Hell, sitting with him while she was in Samantha mode was beyond inappropriate . . . at least it was for her.

He seemed perfectly okay with it, though. She wondered if she were sitting there naked if . . . Okay, naked is not a thought she should wonder about while she was alone with her commanding officer. Hello, Sam! No more wine for you! She didn't stop to consider that her glass was nearly full, indicating that she'd hardly sipped the stuff.

"So, do you want me?"

What! She blinked several times before responding. "I'm sorry? What did you ask?"

"I said, do you want dessert?"

"Really? That's what you said?"

"Yeah. What did you think I said?"

"It's not important. Dessert?"

"I didn't know what you'd like so there's a choice between some two-tone chocolate mousse thing and red velvet cake. I guess they had leftovers from Christmas," he joked.

"Oh. No. Thank you. None for me. This was great, though. Thanks for saving me from a quiet night in the dark, sir."

"Any time, Carter."

Jack took his plate into the kitchen and came back with the desserts. "I thought you might change your mind when you saw these." He opened the small white containers as he sat them in front of her. Both desserts looked decadent and deadly.

So did the man in front of her in his black shirt with the sleeves turned back and those tan slacks. He'd even worn a belt, for Pete's sake. The man seldom wore a belt when he was off-duty. To say he didn't look good would be like saying that the Replicators were just simple toys. Both were potential hazards when underestimated.

The Christmas tree lights flickered on and off and then back on as the power returned. Harsh fluorescent light from the kitchen spilled into the room, effectively stilling her thoughts.

"I'm going to . . ." her words faded as she stood, collected her dinner plate, and headed for the bright light of the kitchen to collect herself, blowing out the candles on the countertop as she passed them.

She turned on the tap full force to rinse their plates into the garbage disposal. The harsh grating sound was oddly comforting as Sam struggled to find the person she'd shed when she'd changed into this gown—the person whose feelings and desires were irrelevant because of her job.

"Need some help?" Jack asked remarkably close to her ear. She jerked in surprise, dropping the plate in her hand.

"Oh, God!" The water washing over her hand began to turn red as it swirled in the drain.

"Sam, I'm sorry. Let me see."

"I'm okay. It's nothing."

Jack shut the faucet off and grabbed a dish towel which he wrapped around her hand, gently drying it. Thankfully, the gash to the palm of her hand was small. He stood close as held pressure to it with the dish towel. God, he smelled good.

"Really, _Sir_. I'm fine." Don't look up at him, she warned herself. All it would take would be for her to turn her face just so and . . . "Thank you for dinner, Colonel, but I think you should . . . that this is . . ."

"I know, and you're totally right, but—"

His face seemed even closer to hers. His warm breath ruffled the fringe of her bangs, against her cheek. She watched the tender strength in his hands holding hers, watched as he moved one hand to the red sleeve of her robe.

"But?"

That hand, those lean fingers, traveled over the silky material to her shoulder, and then to her neck, her cheek, cupping her face to encourage her to look at him.

"But . . . don't you ever just wanna say 'screw the regs,' Sam?" His lips brushed over her cheek. "Don't you just wanna do something without thinking?" Warm lips pressed against the corner of her mouth. Her heart was thudding so hard, she was certain he could hear it. She could barely hear him speak for the sound of it.

"I c-can't. We can't."

"This has been a helluva year, ya know?"

"That's no reason—"

"That's every reason." He kissed her softly, lips lingering, asking. "When I was—when Ba'al . . . the one thing I promised myself is that if I survived I wouldn't let this go. I was s-so close to letting go—to end it for good, but I couldn't for you."

She simply whispered, "Jack." The lights blinked out again, plunging them into darkness. The soft glow of the fire and candlelight beckoned from the other room.

"This needs to be bandaged," he said, shifting away from her. "Where's your first aid kit?"

"There." She pointed to the cabinet. "There should be ointment and Band-aids in it." Sam left him to get the supplies and went to the living room.

Huge fat flakes swirled thickly outside the window as the storm intensified. Snow that had collected against the window sash was blown away by strong wind gusts and Sam could feel the winter chill cascade from the glass.

"It's getting really bad out there," she said.

"Yeah, darn my luck. It looks like I'll be stuck here all night." He didn't sound all that sincere. "Could even be for a couple of days. Jonas said this one had the potential to be the storm of the century."

"Like that means much—it's 2002. Every storm has the potential to be the storm of the century."

"Maybe he meant in the past hundred years. You know how I am with details."

Jack took Sam's hand and led her to the sofa. Once seated, he pulled a candle closer so that he could see her hand. "You know it isn't a party until someone gets hurt."

"That's what we're doing? Having a party?"

"A small one. A party of two. I promise no one will get hurt any worse than this."

"You can't make that promise, Jack."

"I can if we promise only tonight." He finished bandaging her hand, but didn't let it go. Instead, he shifted closer to her on the sofa. "We've spent a lot of time and energy working to stay apart for what? What will it matter a hundred years from now that we had something special tonight? Something just ours."

"And tomorrow? And the next day? What then, Jack? What will we be, just a New Year's moment of desperation?"

"No, Sam, never. If there's anything we should have learned over the past year, it's carpe diem. You were my regret every time I died at Ba'al's . . . you were my hope every time he brought me back."

He leaned in close to her face, his brown eyes searching tear-filled blue. "Samantha."

Sam's resolve crumbled when he whispered her name. He wanted Samantha. He wanted the woman she was, not the soldier he worked with or the scientist he admired, though they were part of her.

She knew this was right. She knew her decision had to do with more than what he'd said, which was a hell of a lot more than he'd said about his captivity in the months he'd been back. It had to do with what he didn't say, what she could see in his eyes—raw pain and desire and . . . and something more that she was afraid to name.

It started with a kiss, her lips on his, moving softly as her breath caught in her throat. Pulling back, she untied the sash and slipped the robe from her pale shoulders. For what seemed an eternity, he looked at her, as if needing to memorize every inch of her, every heartbeat of that moment.

"You know, at this rate, it'll be next year before you touch me," she said, smiling nervously.

"Where do you want me to touch you?"

Taking his hand in hers, she placed it palm-down over her heart. "Why don't you start here, Jack?" His hand burned through the thin silk of her gown. She felt his hand tremble under hers as she guided him to her breast, her eyes never leaving his as she took the lead. "Jack?"

"You're sure, right? Because you haven't said the words, Sam. I need to hear you say that you're sure."

She leaned forward, kissing his jaw just under his ear before whispering, "I'm sure." She drew his ear lobe into her mouth for a moment, felt him tense up as she did so. "Let's make a night to remember." He chuckled at her words and she laughed with him. "God, that was cheesy. I was trying for seductive."

"You had seductive down when you answered the door."

Sam pushed off of the sofa, holding his hand as she did and pulling him with her. She tugged at him to follow; instead he tugged back, throwing her off balance and, in one smooth motion, she was in his arms.

She looked up at him, suddenly serious, and then closed her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers. Parting her lips, she raised herself on bare toes to meet his kiss and slipped her arms around his neck as his drew her closer to him. Her soft curves enhanced by the cool silk molded to the contours of his body.

As they kissed, his hands caressed the hollows of her back, tracing the woven straps of the gown where they crossed, and then sliding down to the cup fullness of her bottom. His touch sent tingles of desire through her and she could feel the evidence of his need for her pressing hard against her stomach.

"Oh, God," she breathed against his mouth. "Come on."

She picked up the candle and led him through the dark house to her bedroom, the fingers of one hand entwined with his. As they moved away from the fire, the air temperature dropped and gooseflesh sprang up on Sam's bare skin.

The candle went on top of her dresser and Jack's arms went around her waist, drawing her back against his chest as his hands explored her body, starting at her stomach and skimming over her ribs, her breasts, and still upward to tug down the straps of her gown.

With minimal effort the silk slipped down her body and pooled at her ankles. Slowly, his hands moved downward again, lightly brushing her soft skin and lingering over her small breasts, her nipples tightly puckered from desire.

Sam closed her eyes and leaned back against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand clutching at the back of his head as she arched against him. His hands continued to roam lower and he ran his fingers along the silky material of her panties, and lower still, dipping within to touch the very center of her.

She moaned, moving under his fingers, and he cupped one soft breast with his other hand as he continued to stroke her sensitive flesh. He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and she moved her legs farther apart to allow his fingers to slide within her.

"God, Sam, you're so wet," he said next to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. She reacted to his words by moving her bottom against him as she rocked rhythmically under his touch. Groaning at her movements, Jack stepped away from her, and kissed her shoulder before removing his hand.

"Jack?" she whimpered, suddenly chilled. She turned to find him stripping off his shirt, pulling the shirttail out of his waistband, and she reached for his belt and began to unbuckle it.

"I felt slightly overdressed," he teased. Her fingers fumbled with the button and zipper of his trousers. He brushed her away to finish the task, so she moved to the buttons of his shirt, making quick business of them, pushing the material off of his shoulders and down his arms. "Hey, slow down. We've got all night, remember?"

Jack let the shirt drop to the floor and smiled at her, amazed at how few words could describe the way she looked, her delicate skin fairly glowing in the candlelight, her lips slightly puffy from their kisses, her eyes heavy with passion.

As hurried as she seemed to be at the moment, he was just the opposite. He wanted to make each instant linger, for time to stop and hold them in this place forever. He touched her cheek lightly, tracing his finger down her jaw line, her throat, her shoulder. God, she was incredible.

His lips soon followed the path of his finger, pressing airy kisses against that silken skin. He dropped slowly to his knees as he kissed her breasts, pausing to flick his tongue against each rosy hardened nub, then down to her flat stomach. His fingers gripped her buttocks and tugged at the red silk panties, easing them down her legs.

He felt her hands at his head, grasping at his hair, while he continue to trail his lips across her hips, her thighs, and the soft short curls in between. The warm, musky scent of her urged him, encouraged him, and he kissed her intimately, slipping his tongue inside and tasting her. She shuddered and gasped under the onslaught of his mouth, his tongue. He supported her, cradling her in his arms as he knelt before her.

"Jack, stop—I can't . . ." she cried, her knees weakening.

He knew she was near and he wasn't ready to send her over the edge yet, no matter how tempted he was to do so. Reluctantly, he kissed her hip and reached for the bed behind him, pushing off of his knees to sit on it, pulling her with him.

Stepping out of her panties, Sam bent over him, intent on removing his pants. Jack kicked off his shoes and leaned back on his elbows, as he watched her drag off his remaining clothing. When she finished, she straddled his hips, pushing him back against the cotton quilt, kissing her way up his body.

"Ahhh, you're too far away," he murmured.

"I can get closer," she answered. Placing her hand between them, she guided him to her, slowly sheathing him within her. She gasped again as little by little her body expanded to accept him, felt his hands at her hips holding her still.

"You're so tight."

She didn't know how to react to his words, "I'm sorry?"

He breathed out in a rush before speaking, "No, Sam, it's okay. I just wasn't . . ."

"Well, it's been a long time."

"For both of us."

Tentatively, she began to move against him, rocking back and forth as he watched her. He threaded his fingers in hers, grasping her hands in his. Holding back, he let her take the lead, though his body wanted to do nothing more than roll her over and pound into her. He knew it had been long enough that if he did that, he wouldn't last too long. And, God, he wanted this to last an eternity.

Sam's eyes began to close as her rhythm increased. "Sam, look at me," he ordered. She obeyed, opening her eyes and locking them with his.

He watched the twinges and beauty of her orgasm on her face, in her eyes, as she quietly came hard and fast against him, the only sound in the room was her breathing. It was all he could do to keep from losing it when she tightened in spasms around him. "God, you're so beautiful," he said, in awe of the woman he held. She crumpled onto his chest, tucking her face into his neck.

"Hey, hey, none of that. We're not finished yet," he teased as she melted against him.

"I'm finished, sir. Go on without me," she whispered into his skin.

He chuckled, his laugh husky. "I don't think so, Sam. Come on. I'll do the work."

"Just give me a minute, Jack."

"No, not going to happen. Just think about how good you're gonna feel in a few minutes when you do that again."

"No way—that never happens for me."

"You giving up, Major? I never knew you'd give up on a challenge."

"You making it an order, sir, because I really . . . don't think I have to follow those at the moment."

Before she could argue further, Jack rolled with her, pinning her under him, smiling at the surprise in her deep blue eyes. He began to move within her, still holding back a bit. Slender hands crept around his neck, pulling him down to her and he kissed her, long and deep, his tongue mimicking other parts of him.

He felt her wrap her legs around him as he increased his pace, suddenly unable to withstand the rush of feelings within him. Pulling back, he watched her face again, this time struggling for focus as he met her eyes. Within a few moments, they began to glaze over again and he felt her muscles begin to clench around him again as she went over the edge again, despite her earlier denial.

He finally gave up on control as he felt her bucking beneath him, reverting to instinct as he drove hard into her. "Ah, Sam, I can't—"

"Then don't. Don't hold back," she said, encouraging as she gripped his buttocks. Her nails dug into him slightly as she matched his movements. Within a moment, she felt his release within her, throbbing as he filled her. He collapsed against her, kissing her long and hard again.

"Sam," he began.

"I know, Jack."

It would be so easy to say those words they'd never said before. And it would be real. But, Sam knew she couldn't voice the feelings she'd buried for so long. As wrong as this was, it was just for them. Like Jack had said, a special memory to hold dear in the battles to come.

Even so, she knew this had changed them forever. Whatever the New Year held for them, they'd have to deal with this eventually. With the fact that they threw away the oaths they'd made to their country years before and with the fear that either one of them could do so again if the circumstances warranted.

He withdrew from her and pulled her to him, spooning her against his chest, hugging her close and cupping a breast within a hand. "I know you know, Sam, so I won't say it," he whispered into her hair. "Just know that I meant it. No matter what."

"I mean it, too. What are we going to do, Jack?"

"Shh—listen."

Outside, someone was setting off fireworks in the middle of the snowstorm. The whistles and pops of the small explosions were unmistakable.

"Happy New Year, Samantha."


End file.
